


Music and Sunshine and Love (And Pain).

by Peqoud



Category: Fable - Fandom, Fable 2, Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: 15 years in the future, Action/Adventure, Adventure Starting From A Photograph, Angst, Comfort, Follows After Main Story-line, Gen, Mentions of Character Death, Mild Cursing, Past Character Death, Unfunny Humour, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peqoud/pseuds/Peqoud
Summary: The lonesome King of Albion is dragged back into action after an urgent letter from an old friend arrives at the Castle. A light adventure doesn't always go as smoothly as first hoped, and things are quite royally fucked.





	1. A Better Place Than Before

**Author's Note:**

> "I miss being young, and I want to feel like an adventurer again. I had some of the greatest times of my life fighting for your ass to sit on that throne and the least you could do is buy me a drink."

Since the dawn of the Heroes Guild, our precious Albion has undergone drastic changes. No longer did it just consist of small villages hidden in the crook of the woods, with undisturbed Demon Doors hidden off the beaten path. Bandits and giant beetles no longer nestled away on trading routes, trying to find any old traveller moving from Brightwall to Bowerstone to mug and probably mutilate. Albion was so much safer, so much more prosperous that some people expressed the years as the “Golden Age” under the new King’s reign. After the Darkness attacked, towns quickly rebuilt with the help of the King, and poverty was a thing of the past. Clear skies and cleaner streets turned Bowerstone Industrial into a happier, less miserable dump. Old factories were successfully renovated into schools for all ages; child labour abolished. Wages went up for soldiers under one pesky blondes orders and everything was ultimately perfect. Balverines seemed to go into hiding, no sudden springing out to feast on scared travellers or attacking the rich down in Millfields; Hobbes sticking to underground caves that had been abandoned long before the Industrial Revolution. Albion was tranquil and found peace inside its confides at last, and the old stories of The Tattered Spire were nothing more than, well, old stories. Fairy tales. The Monarchy reigned with golden prestige, no complaints thrown to the throne in all of the King’s fifteen, sixteen years ruling - until now.

Exactly now. In the form of a letter, for that matter. The writing was hard to read, but flowed almost elegantly across the white, tobacco scented sheets. The King’s thumbs pressed into the edges, dipping under his touch and creasing the papers as his gaze focused over each word individually. He wasn’t one to have a huge attention span, which was utterly perfect when Hobson droned on and on about the day’s tasks, meaning he could read in peace while blocking out the boring words flowing out of the adviser's mouth. _Doesn’t this man ever shut up?_ Hobson also didn’t seem to age that much, but he was practically a cryptid anyway, so it wasn’t that surprising. The whole letter was utterly confusing, until he read the signature at the bottom which was so beautifully curled, so masterfully crafted it looked like calligraphy was making the old fool cry. The letter wasn’t that long, but read:  
 _“Dear Prince, or King, or pal more importantly,  
How old are you now? Thirty-seven? Nearly forty, eh? Seems we’re both getting on, and there haven’t been any royal weddings since… since a long time ago. Don’t worry, I would have sent you an invite to my wedding if I settled down. Still young and free as ever, no ball and… chain? Is that the expression?  
Anyway. Too long has passed since we’ve ‘hung out’ and fought side by side, valiantly. You know, we never sat down to have a drink in a pub. Even more surprising considering a tavern was right outside the sewers. The last time I saw you it was at Walter’s funeral, and I’d hate to have that as my last memory of you and all of us together. I’m not good at writing letters but the jist of it is: I miss being young, and I want to feel like an adventurer again. I had some of the greatest times of my life fighting for your ass to sit on that throne and the least you could do is buy me a drink.  
If you’re up for it, I’ll be in the Quill and Quandry in Brightwall by the time this letter arrives. It’s been simple sightseeing up until now and I am so ready to get shitfaced and punch something. Don’t let me down, my ‘Liege’.  
Over and out, the most handsome man you have ever met,  
Sir Ben Finn.”_  
A chuckle came from His Majesty as he re-read the letter, noticing faint splotches over letters and the corners that wreaked of alcohol. He guessed Ben stopped off at other taverns as he travelled from one place to the next to get to Albion again (to be honest, he wasn’t so sure about where Ben ran off to but he guessed it was out of the country or something). His train of thought was snapped out of existence by an impatient cough from Hobson, foot tapping in annoyance against the regal carpeting, managing to read the letter from the corner of his eye and being pleasantly surprised by it.   
“Sir, _please_. You can run off with your friend from your younger days when your tasks are over. For now, Ravenscar Ke-”   
“Hobson! I can’t keep him waiting, otherwise he’s going to drown in booze and someone's going to steal his wallet if he hasn’t burnt out his pocket already. Just make sure the Keep isn’t understaffed and if anything goes wrong, just tell Jasper for me.”  
With that, the King burst onto his feet, looking as lively as he did fifteen years ago. The scraggly, slightly chubby dog sleeping by his feet looked up in confused glee - tail flicking slowly but happily as her tongue flopped out of her mouth and head tilted to the side. He could hear Jasper in his ear complaining about being old and how he should have one day to himself, berating the monarch but sighing and accepting the job nonetheless. “As long as I inherit the castle when you drink yourself to death,” Jasper said, voice cutting off. Immediately after, the aged, childish king was running through the court, lunging down the stairs to the door leading to Bowerstone with such excitement and bright eyes that he looked like a kid again; waiting patiently however by the door for the old, lovely dog to catch up. Our King wasn’t one to leave the dog trailing far behind, as she wasn’t as young and spry as she used to be. Two lovely buds, off on an adventure for one last time!

Ben Finn was comfortably nestled into a nook of the “Ye Quill and Quandry”, enjoying the quaint sounds of life of the small town he could never really enjoy as a kid. His brothers were always forcing him to get involved with loud crowds and scenes, anything that would make them money. _Gunk’s different to Brightwall_. He thought, while twirling his drink in his hand gently and watching the liquid tip from side to side, sloshing over and coating the table in slight drops of pungent beer and froth, that maybe he could get into this simplistic lifestyle when he was a tad older, when he was happily married and settled down with a bunch of kids who hopefully weren’t as rowdy as his siblings had been.  
Fifteen years had passed since he last stood face to face with the King, and he surely had changed. His hairstyle was slightly shorter but generally the same, brown hairs mixing in with the once completely blonde head of hair. A scar sat over his left eyebrow and finished just above the end of his smile, meaning that eye was completely blind. His features had become more defined, and he may have been losing a bit of hair but that was normal, and he tended to smile way more then he used to - showing off small but desirable dimples. His clothes were no longer blood-soaked, instead cleaned and pressed, with a coat similar to the Major’s. So similar it could actually have been his, though it had Finn’s medals pinned proudly to the front. Ben knew Swift was proud of him, and that Walter was probably watching him more than the ‘prince’ (the blonde was less of a shit, to be fair, and the ‘prince’ wouldn’t blame him). He maintained his frame and stature, even growing an inch or two, helped by him not slouching for all his living years though he would never outgrow the King. _The bastard was abnormally tall, even for a Hero_.   
The poor man’s peace was disturbed by a dog bounding in through the open door of the tavern, muzzle pushed upwards as she sniffed the air for some obnoxious cologne that radiated off Finn. Turns out, even after fifteen years, the blonde still stuck to the same brand of cologne even after Paige said she hated it, claiming that he was ‘sticking to his routes’ and wasn’t about to let Paige bully him for it. So yeah, it was very easy to locate him all the way in the back of the pub, even for an elderly dog. Ben almost spat out his drink when he spotted the dog leaping his way, tail brushing back and fourth in excitement and hitting drunkards beside her before her paws were up on the chair and she was begging to be pet and loved by Ben Finn who was IMMEDIATELY scratching behind her ears and running his scarred hands over her old fur. “If it isn’t my lovely princess! Has the ol’ guy been looking after you?” He asked, lifting the chunky, happy animal onto his lap, with a heaving huff, who was already licking at his face, poking her nose against the others while she huffed and ‘growled’ for more attention. “You’re just a needy baby. I love you so much,” Ben Finn whispered lovingly with his lips pouting as she jumped off his lap, waddling in a circle until curling up, tail whacking Ben’s ankles as she practically fell asleep. Ben found a deep relation with that dog, nodding in understanding as she napped instantly.   
Then suddenly, as his gaze moved from the sleepy ‘puppy’ back to his drink, lifting the glass to his dry lips, he felt his heart stop in his chest as a fist banged on the table, and a forced cough came from the person hidden behind his drink. Shit-scared, Ben’s eyes already wide as he placed the drink down on the table, inches from a coaster, cheeks full of drink like a hamster’s full of pellet food as he stared up at the tall fellow.

“ _It’s so good to see you again, Ben Finn_.”

The soldier then received a swift ‘slap’ to his cheek, spurting the beer onto the table while looking kind of scared, while he was pulled up onto his feet by the other. “Al-Alex…? You look so… old, what happened?” exclaimed Ben in surprise, wiping his mouth with the corner of his sleeve as he manoeuvred his way around the table, pulling Alex into a tight hug, started by a gripping handshake and then finished with multiple pats on the back.  
“... I wou-”   
“Execute me for that joke, I know, but I’m way too handsome for that. And you did knight me, which means we’re best friends.”  
“Ben, I knighted you, Sabine, Jasper, and I gave Paige a dame-hood. You’ve got the same title as that crazy bastard in the mountains. How does that feel?”  
Well, now Ben Finn went silent for awhile. He chewed on his thumb, then bit away at his lips, and peered away from the monarch as he thought, stomping his foot on the floor with a few repeated taps, fists balled up and resting on his hips before he looked back up at the King with total seriousness. “Pretty fucking good. It’s great to see you.”  
The two sat down on adjacent ends of the small, rickety squared table into even more rickety chairs that had splinters sticking out of every corner and were really, really uncomfortable. Alex, the abnormally tall monarch, was used to sitting on the comfort of his cushioned red throne anyway so of course he wouldn’t like the stools or wooden armchairs that were the main decor around tables and desks all over Albion. Most taverns had been renovated with new chairs and cleaner looking furniture but Ben seemed to reminisce about the past so… he more then definitely demanded an older set of chairs.  
The older, more handsome blonde leaned back in the chair, his leg crossed over the other while the dog lounged and slept over his grounded foot. Taking another sip of his beer, pausing, then downing it whole and slamming the glass back down on the table, but on the coaster this time. Not like it mattered with alcohol stains covering the entirety of the table. “It’s been fifteen years since we last talked. And I’ll be honest, I’m so happy you actually came. I haven’t stayed in touch with anyone, not even Paige, so I was scared I’d be by myself when I shown my ugly mug back here. So, for a start, thank you,” hummed Ben nervously, holding the glass between his thumb and fingers and just staring anxiously into it, avoiding eye contact like a small child who broke something. Alex was letting him speak, gently leaning forward with a soft look on his face as he listened. “... I-I didn’t want to come back here, you know? Swift and Walter were so important to me and-and I know Walter was closer to you then me but… It just hurts thinking about them.” Ben played it off with a laugh and a shake of his head, fingers fidgeting with themselves as Alex silently motioned a waitress over for another beer and to also clean the table a little, whispering a thanks with a charmed smile. “Ben, it’s okay. I would have done the same. Swift is always gonna be there, though. They’re probably getting pissed in a pub up there, chatting up a storm, watching over us-”  
“I get it, I get it. Thank you. Let’s move on, shall we? But first, Walter wanted me to give you something before he... passed.”  
A small package, messily wrapped in colourful paper with one beautiful bow on top that was obviously tied by Jasper was gently pushed across the table to not break it or ruin what was inside. “Hm?” Alex hummed in confusion as he picked up the package, thumbs crinkling the thick wrapping paper before tugging under an opening after he worked off the ribbon - tossing it to Ben so he could fix it onto the dog’s head without hurting her. Some people looked over and stared as the wrapping paper created an obnoxious noise as it teared, sliding out a small, delicate and golden frame that was rough under his touch, almost slicing the delicate pads of thumb and finger.  
“... What is this?” he questioned to no one in particular, glancing up almost like he was talking to Walter; he didn’t think Ben would know what it was, either. Flipping the frame carefully over, Alex studied it with precision. His hands became shaky, and so many questions flew through his mind as he peered at it intently. It was an actual photograph, of him as a baby it seemed, being held in the arms of his father with Walter and Swift peering out by his side. Three other figures stood beside them, smiling and happy apart from one who just looked like he was forced to be there but still enjoyed it. One was taller than his father and looked like she could hurt you while trying to lovingly hug you - accidently of course. The other one had dreads with white splotches covering his skin, but then again it was a black and white photograph that took just about three months to process, with a cloak that flowed to the floor. And the one that was forced to be there looked oddly familiar. He stood in such a way that reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t pinpoint who. Ben was leaning over the table to examine it too, Alex happy to show him. Pointing to who, Alex began saying “That’s me when I was just born, maybe? And that’s young Walter and Swift. But I don’t know who they are…” with so much confusion in his voice that it sounded like he was unsure if that was even him.  
The Old Hero King never talked about his Hero years to any of his sons, so only his close friends and people who were still alive from around that time would know the jist of what happened - like the Tattered Spire and the King saving everyone or something. Alex only knew some of his father’s life from parts of Walter’s many stories but they were mainly drunken tales of killing Hollow Men or Hobbes. His father was a good man and Alex understood if he didn’t want to talk about it but the guy did have a statue erected somewhere in Bowerstone that he was aware of, so he never understood just why he kept it a secret.  
“Whatever. Thank you for giving me this, Ben. I mean, it couldn’t have been any later but- thank you,” remarked Alex with the corner of his lip tugging into a happy smile as his eyes flickered back over the other, then the waiter placing the drinks down on the table. “There. I believe I’ve repaid my debt to you. Didn’t you say you wanted an adventure, though? The photograph could lead to a pal’s adventure, where we travel across the lands of Albion in search of a story long forgotten. Somethin’ like that.” _Avo, someone should write a book about me_. Alex’s hand sort of flew across the air as he said it, expecting a high-five, smirking slyly as he watched the other and tried to make sense of his reactions. Leaning forward, chest against the table as he waited for some exciting burst of… of excitement! That seemingly didn’t come, sadly, with Ben Finn looking straight at the other boredly as his head rested on his palm and three of his fingers tapped on the wooden table. Ben’s fists suddenly slammed onto the table, shaking the newly poured drinks as he pushed himself up, tight fists on his hips as he kicked the chair down, foot resting on it while he completed an incredible dramatic face-to-the-side-turn like he was some handsome “Ye Old Vogue” model posing for a heroic painting. “Us, two dashing men, on an adventure to find out the truth in this harsh, gruelling world! Will you, my dearest king Alex, join me? Will you accept my offer? And if so, we must make haste! Across Albion, through the mountains- whatever it takes to-”   
“BEN! My sir, I gladly accept your offer! Please, let us enjoy this fine beverage before we leave everything we ever known behind!” Alex shouted in unison with Ben, forcing the thickest, most noblest accent he could muster as he stood on his own two feet with confidence, chest puffed out as he swooped up the ‘beverage’ and took a swig. It was amazing that such an accent didn’t come natural for a prince turned king, it just wasn’t Alex. The two nodded in noble understanding, the blonde flipping up his chair and brushing his hand through the dog’s fur as they both sat down again. They couldn’t comprehend what was about to come, though, even for two excited ‘soldiers’.  
Day soon became night, the two wasting the day drinking and poking fun at each other, bringing up old memories too - especially the very vivid memory of Ben getting hit on by a bunch of ladies who, surprisingly, turned out to be prostitutes. Every minute past midnight Ben complained about being so tired he felt his eyelids cementing shut while he still managed to drink himself half to death, at least until Alex forced him to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms of the tavern, helping him up the stairs carefully with an arm wrapped under the other's arm, leading him to a bed. “In the morning we- He’s asleep. Well, night Ben,” he whispered, blowing out the candle on the bedside table before he tiptoed out the room, closing the door as softly as physically possible. Alex wasn’t used to staying up for so long, it reminding him of his young hero days when he’d quite literally get no sleep for weeks on end. There was the odd moment where he would sleep in a tavern but that wasn’t the norm. Holding onto the banister as he made his way down the steps, right hand balling into a fist which he proceeded to rub his eyes with, stepping outside into the almost comforting dark.

The night sky tended to make lovely villages into nightmare-ish hellholes and that seemed to freak Alex out. He stumbled out the frame of the door, his crown glinting from lights inside the tavern. The total silence that surrounded him as he looked out, peered out into the darkness, trying his best to make out buildings and stalls surrounding. Another step forward and Alex was suddenly backtracking, hoping he’d be embraced by the comforting warmth and light of the Quill and Quandry. Eyes shut tight in pure fear, Alex was met with a stinging sensation on the back of his head - it was the door. Wiggling on the door handle with both hands in an attempt to open it, pushing on it and eventually repeatedly hitting the wooden door straight on with his shoulder so he could fall into it’s embrace. Nothing worked. The darkness seemed to be setting in completely, no stars glistened in the pitch black sky to guide him. Alex had a glimmer of hope that he’d be protected from the light inside shining out, but just like his hope it burnt out and joined his failed dreams. Overwhelmed by a sense of coldness that left the hairs on the back of his neck on end and him more paranoid than before as it seemed to guide him into what he guessed was the centre of town. He felt blinded, grasping out for anything at all while he shuffled on his feet. The same sickening coldness found it’s way slivering up the Hero’s clothes, filling the gaps of his boots and jacket up with a substance that wasn’t water. Drowning in something thicker than water, colder than rotting bones and harsher than blunt knives digging into your skin. His feet lifted from the floor, crown crumbling under the weight of it all while he choked. Guttering, blue blood hacking up from his lungs as the cold, gruelling substance slivered down his throat; feeling it in his fingers, in his bones and blood, clogging up his heart obscenely as he tried to huff and reach out for anyone, for anything capable of helping him. Nothing was there. Nothing could stop the Hellbent reality that was thrust upon him by… by what? It came out of nowhere, devilishly swept him off his feet and held him in a tight, loving embrace while also single-handedly killing him. Murdering him with intense slowness and deafening silence, skin rotting away as the black tar thickened and boiled. Every second was pure pain, pure unbelievable pain as it melted his skin and clawed into his back, teared into his soul and ragged his heart out from its cage. Face stained with tears hidden by the black substance of unimaginable pain.  
A tight grip was secured on the nearly unrecognisable Hero’s shoulder after it wrestled amongst the thickening substance to reach him. It was tugging back with force, another hand joining in to save the trapped king. He may have been undergoing excruciating pain but he could tell the hands desperately trying to save him weren’t Ben’s. They were thick and- “Fuck! Swift, shoot at it more you bumbling idiot!” The King wasn’t able to process anything anymore, not even the familiarity of the voice or even who was staring over him while he writhed in pain, finally passing out to combat everything going on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not this soon! This is… Balls! Balls to it all! We didn’t warn him… I didn’t warn him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH boy I apologise for not updating this in... months. I hope this isn't too bad. :(

“I can’t believe this.”  
“... It was going to happen someday.”  
“Not this soon! This is… Balls! Balls to it all! We didn’t warn him… I didn’t warn him!”  
“Walter, calm down. He’s strong. He saved the bloody kingdom for Avo’s sake! Just--”  
A groan came from the body being lugged over Walter’s shoulder suddenly, sputtering up more, probably hacking up a lung or two. Alex’s throat was sore and scratchy and an awful taste lingered in his mouth to the point he felt as if he’d throw up everytime he noticed it. Consciousness hadn’t fully returned to Alex, eyes fluttering open and close occasionally like a broken set of blinds. He managed to make out scuffed boots and could feel the low rumbling of muttering in his captors chest and that he was hanging from the same man’s shoulder.  
A sense of deja vu hit the poor bloke as he was being carried, reminding him of that awful mess back in Aurora as he began to hit and kick and scramble out of the strangers arms with every last bit of strength his weakened self had. It was… sad. The desperation in his eyes could kill a man, any man as long as they were living, as he tried to claw his way back to his sleeping companion after the pained thud of him falling from the man’s broad shoulder. The two enthralled strangers lurked closely near him, as far as Alex could tell from his pathetic position on the floor. They exchanged soft words as they tried to reassure the shaking King of Albion, helping him gently back onto the man’s shoulders, gaining the sense of familiarity while his other senses dispersed into thin air.  
It was a lengthy trek back to where Swift and Walter resided. Navigating your way through what was practically Heaven, though Ben Finn referred to it as Avo’s Garden weirdly, was difficult. Long winding paths that seemingly lasted forever, resembling the streets of Albion, accompanied by random noises hidden amongst the greenery. Virtually nothing could harm you here. At least that was thought to be true. 

Oh! The two were old. And dead. That hadn’t changed. They were very much dead, I assure you. They still loved indulging in one anothers companionship however, while being dead. Walter would never go anywhere without Swift and nor would Swift go anywhere without Walter. They were the epitome of dependence and love, in some way, in death.

“This is bollocks and I hate it,” was muttered by Walter as he kept his arm carefully around the younger and still alive man. “I hate it so goddamn much, Swift. Thought this was over for us, for him. Christ...”  
Swift twiddled with his more glamorous smoking pipe, sighing sadly to himself. “So did I. But this, it’s Albion. You know about the Spire, and the ol’ Jack of Blades bugger from years ago. Shouldn’t have expected anything less, Walter, something was bound to make a resurgence.”   
Walter did not seem in the least pleased by that response. He let off a grunt of annoyance and didn’t even turn to look back at Swift as he started to quicken his footing. Swift couldn’t understand! Couldn’t possibly. Alex was everything to this old man. He was practically his son. This bad shit didn’t deserve to happen to Alex and it was painful to watch and it broke his already broken heart and Swift just couldn’t damn understand.  
Swift was calling for him to “Slow down!” and “Wait up!” between heavily panting breaths and small curses, until his voice ultimately became distant and then non-existent. Walter could only hear Alex’s rapid breathing and the low rumble of the wind.

It was mostly impossible for stuff like this to happen.  
The last person to do something this extravagant and pull it off was Theresa. She was able to both control time and bring the Hero safely into an almost completely different world, without it seeming like anything had changed in reality.   
Walter and Swift weren’t the same as Theresa, obviously. They were ex-soldiers now, not a weird lady who could probably read your mind. It was a dream, more or less, that they had pulled Alex into. Time would go on, but everything that happened in the dream was probably real. No real guarantee.

“Hey, it’s Swiftie!”  
A soft but raspy voice called from over the counter, cleaning the empty mugs with a rag in their left hand.   
“Over here, come get yourself a drink!”  
Swift followed the ladies orders, twisting his way through the small crowd of tables and chairs that hosted other dead beings, before he reached the counter. Pushing himself up onto the stool with a little grunt, he was immediately greeted by a mug frothing over, pushed towards him by the bartender. He loved this lady, but not as much as Walter of course.  
“You’ve not popped by since, hm… this morning, with Walter. Something up, hon?” The lady asked, twisting her lips in worry. “I’ve not seen you without Walter at your hip since the day he uh, y’know…”  
“Everything’s… fine, Springs,” said Swift, contorting his face to that of feigned happiness. That obviously didn’t satisfy the bartender who just pouted her plush lips at the former living man (who was one of many). “A little ‘something’ happened to Alex, the King? And uh, now he’s here, but not dead? I said something like ‘Oh, it was bound to happen!’ and that wasn’t good enough for Walter, so now he’s pissed at me and he left me in the middle of the road.”  
Springs was slightly annoyed at Walter in secret, and Swift for making a mess with his drink - lifting his glass up and swabbing the froth from the table. “Sounds like a lover’s quarrel,” she commented, hoping to elicit a reaction from Swift as she hummed some song she picked up from passing travellers, both alive and dead.   
Swift’s paled cheeks became a gentle pink at that, head tilting to face the counter as he lifted the mug to his mouth. “We’re just friends! And Walter… he’s the straightest man I’ve ever met. It’s a surprise, I know - you meet a man with a beard like that and you’re gonna be surprised when he turns out straighter than bloody Avo.” He huffed in disappointment momentarily before wriggling restlessly on his stool.  
“Hon. You… You can’t create gays without being gay,” Springs chuckled to herself, shrugging in a joking manner before she moved along behind the counter to serve another customer, leaving Swift to sit and contemplate by himself.   
“...I’ll-I’ll be back later.” Swift narrowed his eyebrows in thought, then left, leaving what only could be considered as ghost change on the counter.

Was his eyes closed? No, no, he could feel his eyelashes against his skin every time he blinked. Blinking led to an estranged, white light, followed by complete darkness. Fear swirled in Alex’s stomach as he pushed himself back, coarse fingers scratching against stone before his bare back hit the wall and sent goosebumps through shaking skin. Why was his shirt gone and what the fuck was crawling on his skin? His blood boiled beneath it all and his hurt stung and his head ached like nothing he could ever describe in his lifetime. Whispers of scared prayers to Avo passed his lips until he heard heavy boots on creaky stairs, muffled slightly by cheap carpet.   
“You’re awake! Christ, it’s been hours.”  
Alex shuffled in fear against the wall, hands splayed out against it and helping him push himself onto his own two feet. “W-Walter…?” He stuttered, trying to find the direction of the others voice with stumbling steps.   
“Careful! Just… sit and rest. Do you need anything?” Walter asked, not having his plan exact yet. He didn’t know what the fuck to do, he was just trying to wing it until Alex regained his eyesight. He may have been through this sort of thing himself but it wasn’t like he was helpful.  
Alex let out a few curses in disbelief as he slowly and meticulously lowered himself onto the floor, succumbing to a bout of dizziness. “Y-yeah, um, I need to know how the fuck you’re talking to me? You’ve been dead for fifteen years!” The King exclaimed, hands curling tight over his own knees as he looked up at what he thought was Walter. “Or am I-I just hallucinating again. Y’know, like I was in fucking Aurora!” Eventually, he resorted to holding his head in his hands and groaning.  
Walter dropped to his knees and shuffled over to the King’s side. He wrapped one arm around his shoulder, and pressed a teacup to his mouth. “Shut up. Everything’s fine. Go ahead ‘n’ drink this,” he soothed, allowing Alex’s shaking fingers to take the cup from him and drink it himself. He was surprised Alex didn’t question him about what it was, though he probably understood if the kid had a death wish at this point.   
Drinking whatever it was had Alex’s eyelids falling shut, almost drifting to sleep in his current state of relaxation. He could see, almost, from under his eyelashes. He was able to make out the teacup in front of him, with everything ahead of the cup still remaining in complete darkness. It felt like he was dreaming, one foot in a pleasant dream and the other stuck in one of his most haunting nightmares. It was almost as if he was still on the edge of Ben Finn’s bed not blinded with a dead man’s arm around him trying to keep him upright.  
Staring at the cup for a few minutes seemed right. The cup was half full but was abnormally light in his hands and he caught hints of a translucent, ghostly blue everytime he tilted it even slight. Alex decided not to think much of it as his head finally turned to face his dead mentor. 

It was hard recognising Walter. The last time Alex seen Walter was when he was… dead. Everything about seeing him felt wrong. His body was buried in his backyard. There’s a huge fuck-off statue right in his garden in memorial to him! Walter was staring deadpan at him, even as Alex nervously and awkwardly slapped his face with the back of his palm.  
“Ow, you shitebag! I may be dead but I could still feel that!” Walter cursed, pushing himself onto his feet again with a huff. “Anyway. I’m not just here for you to slap. You’re in grave danger and we want - need - to help.”  
The King blinked. He rested the teacup between his crossed legs, cocking his head at Walter. “Wh- Grave danger? I know I’m dreaming right now but come on, that’s completely crap!” He retorted, slowly twisting around to try and find his shirt with Walter soon throwing it at him. He took note of the black, almost goopy marks on his chest before pulling his shirt down overhead. “I think I’ll wake up now. I need to wake Ben up, so it’s been… a time.” Alex stood up, a little shaky but still as spry as ever.  
“You don’t understand! The Darkness, it’s-”  
“Walter! Hurry, something’s… happened!” A muscly woman shouted as she pushed the door to the house open, panic on her face with chaos behind her. Dread swallowed Walter, guilt covering him as Swift wasn’t with him. His eyes darted between Alex and the lady. He nodded at the woman, before gripping at Alex’s collar.  
“Be careful, Alex. Do me proud.”

 

Writhing pain afflicted the king as he was thrown back into reality. His chest pushed up as he fell from an imaginary height, face contorted in pain while he tried not to move too much. The ache of his bones felt all too real yet fake and imaginary, and it soon started fading. Pins and needles ran up his legs, making it difficult to stand up paired with just the feeling of his bones ‘breaking’. As soon as it was bearable, Alex studied his surroundings with one squinty eye. He was in the center of town, just before sunset, with half his arm submerged in the fountain and the rest of his body on the bricked path. He looked like he was recovering from the worst pub run ever, and had just passed out trying to reach the tavern.  
Managing to splash water on his face to calm himself down, resting his head against the fountains mossy stone just after. It was around 5 AM, sometime before sunrise. He was a little drowsy but managed to still think of Ben Finn. He’d love to see the sunrise, but he always tended to sleep through it. Some would call him lazy but others would just call him lazy, again. He just enjoyed a snooze and the feeling of soft bed sheets against his skin. He said it was comparable to one big hug. He liked Ben. He was fun to be around, emotional almost all of the time, and he was pretty good at fighting. At least Ben thought he was. Alex really had to stop thinking about Ben when he was bored.  
Barging out of the tavern door, however, was his pride and joy - his dog! Her tongue was resting outside of her mouth as she tiredly padded along somewhere, before excitedly catching up with Alex who was still strewn against the fountain. She licked at his face and wagged her tail before promptly sitting down next to him, immediately getting the top of her head patted. Following suit with his thumbs stuck into his pants like some cowboy, jacket presumably left inside, was Ben who looked peaceful. A pang of guilt sat in Alex’s stomach as he felt almost bad for disturbing the man’s morning, as obvious panic ran through Ben when he spotted him.   
“Fuck! Wh- what the fuck! Alex, are you okay?” Ben exclaimed, hurrying over to Alex’s side and scuffing the knees of his pants on the cobble. His strong arm hooked underneath Alex’s and he managed to help him onto his feet by himself. Ben could do almost anything when he was worried, so that explains it. “No offence, but you look fucking awful. What - fuck - what fucking happened?” No response came from Alex apart from a little chuckle as Ben helped him into the tavern and into the room he had just slept in.

They were all gone in the morning.

Ben was still asleep when Alex woke up. His shirt was off as he examined his chest and torso in general. He thumbed at the black, scar-like marks on his body that he hadn’t felt nor noticed until now. He was frightened but allowed himself to forget about it until later, going outside to cool his nerves.  
“I travelled, uh, all over the country,” Ben called, as he lead the way over stepping stones and to the other side of the lake. “I spent most of my time in Wraithmarsh actually.” He hopped off, foot carefully planted on the grass as he turned around and watched Alex carry the dog safely while also trying not to fall in the water. “They’ve got pirates there! Never really met a pirate before,” he added with a smile.  
Alex nearly slipped on the rocks, quickly regaining his balance and dropping the dog off on the bank before he made sure he was safe on the earth himself. “I know my dad knew a pirate, but I’ve not had the time to go travelling since I’ve become the king and all,” he explained, with a little shrug. “I’ve mainly just stayed on the throne. I dated a few people but eh. That’s probably the most exciting thing I’ve done to be honest.” He was disappointed when he said that, walking beside Ben as they moved along through a quiet forest.  
Uncomfortable silence pursued as they tried to avoid standing on thorns or getting scratched by any plants. Alex battled with himself on whether or not he should talk to Ben about what happened last night, his guilty conscious rising. It may have hurt but he couldn’t tell Ben. He couldn’t worry him like that. Watching him and the dog play about like they were both children warmed him but also hurt so very, very badly. If he told Ben, Ben wouldn’t let his guard down. He’d be serious and scared but he’d also be furious and heartbroken that Alex couldn’t tell him. It was a moral dilemma.  
“I actually… I lost my sight in my eye in Wraithmarsh. With the scar, yeah,” started Ben, trying to make conversation as he glanced behind him and rubbed the back of his head. “To some bandits, actually. I promised I wouldn’t fight after uh, yeah, so I was kind of defenseless.” He laughed his nervous manner off though, smiling as he picked some tiny flower from the ground. “I know, it’s a shock - me losing a fight. Couldn’t believe it myself.”  
Alex had picked up on Ben’s ability to change the tone of what he was talking about very quickly if he felt his intended audience was a little uncomfortable. It made him a little sad that he had to put a funny twist on everything. “It’s impressive, y’know. I couldn’t do something like that,” he commented, soft but serious tone as he caught up to the others side again, hearing him suppress a laugh. “No! No, it’s true! When it comes down to it, I rely on my weapons to get me out of everything and then here you are, fighting off bandits. Weaponless! And by yourself!” He was genuinely amazed, but he knew Ben wouldn’t listen. He came out with a scar and that’ll be his reason as to why he fucked up. He could hear Ben murmur a thanks under his breath, allowing himself to be happy over it.

Ben’s scar looked sparkly and angelic the closer he got to the fire. His eye was glossy and the other, working one bright and blue. He looked at home, nestled against the roots of the trees with a dog by his side and warmth crawling up under his clothes. He was humming a tune as Alex got himself comfy, tired and eyes naturally falling closed every few seconds. The fire crackled and brought vastly different memories to each while the soldier watched the king doze off like a child.   
He was happy. The fifteen years he had spent away from Alex were sad and long and there’s too many mistakes to count that he had made. But he was happy now. He had come to terms with everything, he mourned his losses and he moved it. It was painful and harsh but he moved on. And oh, Avo, was he all smiley just being near Alex. Smiley and happy and loving and young again. It was just… Alex.

Unlike him, smaller men in the mountains were displeased, and a woman once confined to sewers found discomfort and anger, and an Auroran beauty found herself scared as something lurked and threatened her people. Unlike him, Albion was not happy.


	3. Head-locked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paige is happy yet uncertain. Her life remains a mystery to even her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for like... not posting in an entire year, something like that!   
> Reghan is also just a random name I picked, it's in no relation to any character in canon or irl. yanno the drill!

_ “Bandits are back. Couldn’t find the King,” groaned Paige, the knife saddled to her hip suddenly pierced through the map on the table. She bit her lip, loading two bullets into her pistol as she sauntered round the table, disguising her anger as passive-aggressiveness instead.  _

_ “What do you mean, you couldn’t find the King? He’s only gonna be in one damn place, isn’t he?” _

_ Paige pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “He’s a ‘Hero’. It’s not like he’s going to waste his fucking life away on a damn throne, trust me. You’ll see him dead before that,” she countered, holstering her pistol again and nodding her head to herself. “Not mercenaries, just bandits holing up outside Brightwall. I’ll be gone a day, at worse.” _

_ Bandits we’re dumb. Didn’t look as bad or smell as bad as mercenaries did, but still, they were dumb. And anyone dumb enough to mess with the people of Albion always ended up facing Paige at some point.  _

_ Skilled and ferocious in the way she calculated herself and her steps, everything a perfect move. Nothing but the best from Paige, which surprised no one. She took a deep breath. Squared her shoulders, rolled out her back. Relaxed, despite her settling anxiety.  _ _ Outfit, the same as usual. She stuck out like a sore thumb from the bandits, none deciding to stop her despite rocking up right in the middle of their ‘operations’. They stared. She scoffed. A small snarl, as she pulled out her pistol from the snug holster on her hip, and lazily twirled it as someone approached.  _

_ Clad in black and heavy boots, a tight grip on his sword. Twice the size of Paige. A smirk tittered on his lips, a snort from his gross nose as he turned around, eying his equally as dead buddies. “Lissen, luv,” the coward started, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and scrunching his face briefly. “We ain’t-- We don’t mess wit’ children. I’ll help ya’ find momma, before ya shoot ya eye out with that thing, unless ya’ wanted to stay awhile?” mocked the man, his greasy face flashing a wink as he walked closer toward her. Paige smiled, feigning a blush as the man knocked the small gun out of her hands, resting his heavy hands on her shoulders.  _

_ “Of course,” she whispered meekly, “just give me a second.” She coiled forward slightly, feeling up her thigh and under her skirt, fumbling for something. An unbuckling sound. “Thank you.” Paige fisted her grip on the concealed weapon, before it was lurched forwards, piercing crotch and clothes and god was she annoyed that she got her favourite knife messy.  _

_ The towering man was now a body shield, his hands covering his bleeding region as Paige hid behind the man’s frame, lugging him behind cover after she scrambled for her pistol that was messily in her grip. Her bodyshield was practically being executed by its own friends, who couldn’t seem to differentiate between a small woman they’d met five minutes ago and a man they’ve probably known for five years.  _

_ The shield tossed to the side, sputtering and hacking up its last breaths. Time slowed when Paige leaned over cover and pulled the trigger, her own breathing short and controlled to not shake her hands. Her own bullets whistled as they fired, the others dull in comparison. A source of invincibility building within her. A Hero, unstoppable but not invincible as- _

  
  


Body scarred, everything tired.

She fumbled her fingers over the old, fading scars on her chest, splashing her face with water as she tried to gather her image in the mirror. It felt different. Could have been her lack of sleep, maybe the stress. Her old appearance couldn’t have been pieced together by herself. Was she different? Did she still love her? It was hard to tell. 

“Come back to bed, my love, it’s too early,” she said, coaxing Paige back to slumber, sitting up amongst the warm sheets and pillows, blankets draped over her shoulders, fist balled and rubbing her eyes. “Sweetheart… we can take a walk in the morning, okay? We need to-” she yawned, stretching her back out, “We need to go to the market anyway. So you wanna… try and sleep for me?”

The bags under Paige’s eyes seemed more prominent than ever, cursing her out as she mumbled “I’m not tired,” while slowly shuffling towards the bed, towards the soft love of her sweetheart. She rolled her shoulders back, climbing into bed next to her. Paige ran her fingers through the others hair, letting out a stressed sigh through her nose.

“ _ Reghan _ …” softened Paige, as she rested her head against her chest, snuggling against her side. The flickering light of the cheap candle lit up the face of her love, coating her freckles in warmth and god was she adorable. She wanted to keep her safe, hold her tight like she used to. 

“ I love you .”

 

_ Not as invincible as the King.  _

_ Not as invincible as anyone, for that matter. She didn’t heal quickly over time, she didn’t wield fire in her palms, she didn’t carry blue blood in her veins and her scars didn’t turn into deep, intricate patterns. She wasn’t Royal, to say the least. She was a former sewer rat, who used to live in a hovel underneath Bowerstone Industrial.  _

_ One of Paige’s bullets pierced through a vagrants knee-cap, forcing him down, cradling his leg in pain. Another pierced someone else's shoulder, and the rest she couldn’t hit ran off. Naturally, Paige tried to follow after them; her heroic behaviour having awarded her with a twisted foot, unable to make haste and chase. She lurched forward out of cover, kicking off the previous body shield with her free foot, biting her lip as she tried to force herself to stand up. It hurt, yes, but she forced herself to move on anyway.  _

_ The bandits had disappeared, and Paige slowly began to realise that she should have took someone with her. She felt a presence behind her, tantalisingly still, until a cold force hit the back of her head, imprinting. _

  
  


“What do you think we should have for dinner, my love?”

Paige was startled by the question. She felt Reghan’s soft fingers coaxing hers, holding onto them gently. Her eyes darted through the stalls in the market, returning back to Reghan’s face. She felt like kissing her, soft lips against hers, palms resting on her gentle cheeks.

“I’ll take us out for dinner tonight. But for some other time in the week, I wouldn’t mind- Oh, Reghan, hold on, I’ll be back in a minute,” Paige whispered into Reghan’s ear, private, squeezing her hand to reassure her before she quickly walked to the center of town, drawn to something. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, abstract. 

Paige stood under the bell tower, distant from her surroundings. She faced Logan’s statue, across the square and across the bridge. It felt similar. She learnt about Logan from the others around her, and a sense of pity and rage fueled her and swirled in her stomach and she felt sick. Her fists balled. She felt sick that she couldn’t remember what happened, what happened in what she could only describe as a past life to her now. 

She stared at her feet, unsure of what drawn her here. She felt and heard the chimes, white noise, except the bell wasn’t moving. It was loud and dull at the same time, her vision beginning to blur and fingers messing together. Everything suddenly became… 

  
  


White. 

In terms of life, she couldn’t understand where she was. In terms of where she literally was, she couldn’t understand that either. Her feet shifted and knees buckled but hands held her up, somehow. Maybe her own hands, but she could see them in front of her. Did they belong to her? 

She was…in a familiar town. Gates behind her, a pub to the right, blacksmiths to the left, stalls surrounding. A river in the center. She could see her hands moving through the air, almost as if she was submerged in water. She let go of the thought. 

Familiarity seemed common today. A man, clad in red, exited the pub and it took him a few seconds to recognise her. She wished she could do the same, while turning her back on him and starting to walk as he hurried toward her, trying to feign obliviousness.

“Paige! Paige? What are you- Why are you here?”

The man had his hands on Paige’s shoulders, slightly tight, with worry in his eyes. His mustache twitched with his lip. She tried to back off, more startled than before.

“I don’t know you. I don’t know you, how do you know my n-?”

“This isn’t good. Alex first, now you. Don’t need bloody Sabine coming up here. Are you okay?” He seemed ecstatic, but not in a good way. Nervous, on edge. His movements were quick and he let go of Paige.

“I think I’m okay. I seen a statue of Logan and- Who are you? Do I know you?”

Paige watched the man erratically look around. She took small steps back, shifting to run as she felt her feet almost liquify beneath herself.

“Paige please, please, you need to find him. You need to find Alex but I- head for Sabine, in the mountains. Or-or Kalin! I need to find Walter, Paige, I need to find Walter-”

  
  


Her body was propped up against one of the legs of the bell tower. The chimes had stopped, and closing her eyes felt better than them being open. People surrounded her, worried about the woman who just passed out in the middle of the market.

Reghan’s voice seemed to be the loudest. Paige learned to pick it out from any crowd, mainly because she loved to hear it. It was so sweet and soft and suddenly she felt bad. Awful, even. The worry in her throat seemed coarse, and Paige searched out for her hands once she opened her eyes again. 

Earthly worries hindered Paige from leaving the square, leaving Reghan behind, as the soft fingers wove between her own scratched and scarred ones. Reghan’s eyes were watery, eyelashes wet with her own tears. Even in sadness she reflected an angel. 

“Are you okay? You should have told me if you didn’t feel okay, I would have understood.”

Words were not processing correctly. They came in, and left the same way. Shimmying her way up the wall, onto her feet that contained the same untrustworthy view on reality. Like the floor would fall underneath her feet. Falling, falling. 

 

She woke up later in bed, her… partner, beside her. 

The room was cold and it felt empty. The curtains were drawn lazily and yet light didn’t crack out from the holes. Waking Reghan up was a no-go at this time in the morning, so she collected her clothes up from the floor and got dressed quietly.

Midnight anxieties filled Paige’s lungs, doubt in her stomach. She stood outside the door of her house, cloak wrapping around her figure. Maybe she’d be home before sun up. Hopefully she wouldn’t be. The tears in her eyes proved the latter true, pouch tucked with food and worn scabbard with sword peeking out from under her only cover from the rain.

She wasn’t one to follow up on her dreams, but the man clad in red seemed urgent, and the terrified look on his face terrified her more. So, without reluctance, she made haste, towards the mountains. To a man named Sabine, who she was depending everything on.


End file.
